It still stands clooase ageean t’ hoodend,
We t’ back to t’ parlour deur;
An’ like a real oade trusty friend,
It’s awlus seeafe an’ seuer.
Donn’d in a cooate o’ verdant green,
T’ seeame as it used to wear,
Unfashionable – thar it’s seen,
My Fadther’s Oade Arm Chair.

Thar’s t’ wishin ‘at my mother patched,
When ah wor quite a barn;
An t’ cullers sooarted, sized an’ matched,
Wi’ hear an’ thar a darn.
Ah see a square o’ t’ oade stuff goon
She bowt at Pateley Fair;
And, then a diamond, just aboon,
To sute that Oade Arm Chair.

When oor lile Jim wer teean sa bad,
Three weeks afooare he died,
It sarved him for a bed, poor lad!
An’ easy-chair beside.
An’ oft ah’ve heard me mother say,
An’ say it we a tear,
‘At her oade fadther drew away,
Sat in that Oade Arm Chair.

An’ thar it stands, an’ thar it’s stood
Through many a changing year;
Unhurt, unbroken, sound and good,
An’ scarcely worse for wear.
A relic ov a by-gone age!
If used an’ worn we care,
For years an’ years, an’ years to come,
‘T will be a good Oade Chair.


Thomas Blackah